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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575940">i wouldn't know where to start</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativeandartsyname/pseuds/creativeandartsyname'>creativeandartsyname</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Past Child Abuse, Sylvain gets therapy: the fic!, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, a poorly disguised character study, or as good as therapy gets in war crime school, sylvain is a mess of a human being</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:09:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativeandartsyname/pseuds/creativeandartsyname</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Healing the wounds from a battle with your own personal demon only happens if you accept they're open ones in the first place. Felix sees Sylvain's bleeding, and Seteth tries make him see that as well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i wouldn't know where to start</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>little psa: seteth is not an actual therapist (actual clinical therapy? in my ambiguously medieval war crime school? ) and this fic isn’t about/endorsing/attempting to describe any kind of actual therapy. just wanted to put that out there. mind the tags.</p>
<p>i realized about halfway through that a good chunk of this would’ve logically happened during flayn’s kidnapping so…. let’s just say the timeline is flexible.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Really, Felix started the day </span>
  <em>
    <span>impressed</span>
  </em>
  <span> by Sylvain, for once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well. Perhaps impressed was too callous, even for Felix. It’s inaccurate to say that you are impressed by a man dealing the last blow to the monster that used to be his brother, but there is a sense of awe, at the very least. It isn’t often that one sees a man literally battle and overcome his demons. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miklan was dead, the lance had been taken back, and a long history had been written to a close. That’s how Felix thought of the incident- done, over with, the first step to walking with it behind them. Sylvain’s slaying of the beast should have been a satisfying conclusion to the story with nothing left to mourn. When the monster was dead, the professor made the call to return to Garreg Mach, and Ingrid pulled on the sleeve of Sylvain's blood-tainted uniform, Felix thought he saw a sense of closure pass over his friend’s face as he stared upon the corpse of his own personal demon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So. Could he hardly be blamed for finding the sight of Sylvain sitting in the corner of his uncharacteristically messy dormitory room, drunk, disheveled, freshly slapped by a name he’s certain Sylvain had already forgotten already </span>
  <em>
    <span>frustrating</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Felix had long since stopped thinking that Sylvain was valiant by nature- though many other childhood affections remained, the hero worship he had for his friend had passed by with the years- but after a decisive, meaningful victory, the downfall stung to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sylvain</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Somehow, it seemed that his friend hadn’t taken notice that someone had opened the door and stepped into his room. Barking his name out into the silence jolted that disheveled mop of red hair up, and Sylvain’s bleary, unfocused gaze met Felix’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Felix! Felix….” He raised the half empty, dripping bottle of wine in his hand like Fodlan’s most unwelcome toast. “Come join the party.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sober Sylvain would’ve recognized that Felix’s creased eyebrows and scowl indicated the exact opposite of wanting to party, but drunk Sylvain continued to beckon him over with the bottle, nearly dropping it in his enthusiasm. Felix instead stood his ground in front of the door, ready and willing to leave at a moment’s notice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell are you doing.” It wasn’t a question. Rather, an accusation and a demand rolled into a single curt sentence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain mulled over the not-quite-question for a long enough time to heighten his friend’s aggravation. The wide, toothy and entirely joyless grin that plastered across his ruddy face took the extra step and </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> pissed him off. “Celebrating.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure. A true bastard like Miklan dying was cause for some sort of celebration, but the sort of internal celebration that comes with being finally able to mentally let go of a long-standing grievance and not the sort with excessive drinking and long nights with women. Sylvain wasn’t even celebrating the wrong way correctly- even through the tunnel vision that anger brings, Felix saw no joy, no catharsis and no resolution in the Sylvains’ drunkenness.  But that pinpointed anger prevented him from recognizing the nagging concern surrounding it and so he stepped forward with an aggressive start.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think you’re doing? That bastard is finally dead, and</span>
  <em>
    <span> this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is how you spend the night afterward?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In short time, Felix would regret his words. In the heat of the moment he felt nothing but disgust at the sorry sight before him. Not even the obvious flinch that those harsh words caused in Sylvain snapped him out of his distaste. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is pathetic, Sylvain.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some kind of instant regret came, albeit lessened by the still present heat of anger, when Sylvain’s false smile instantly dropped and he stared at his friend with unmasked hurt in his eyes. The regret dissipated just as quickly when he scoffed, took another swig from the streak-stained bottle in his hands, and let out a completely mirthless laugh. “Haha…. Yeah. It is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And by the goddess did it irritate Felix that Sylvain looked content to drink himself to oblivion without giving Felix’s anger a second thought. He closed the distance between the two of them in a second and yanked the bottle from his hand and lips with enough speed to make it unavoidable. “Stop. Drinking.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the delayed reality set in and Sylvain realized the bottle had been taken from his hands, he put on an exaggerated pout and reached out for it in a manner resembling a cat lazily batting at a string. “Come ooooooon, Felix. Give it back. Can’t you let a man…” He paused in his grabbing for a moment, thinking over the right word that would get the wine back into his hands. “…Comfort himself?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The attempt failed as Felix pulled the bottle further away from the beggar in front of him. “This isn’t comforting yourself. You’re just wallowing in your own misery. It’s not going to solve anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once again, a momentary flinch passed over Sylvain’s body, quickly repressed. His arms lowered, coming to rest on top of his bent knees, and his gaze followed. “…Fine, fiiiiine. Just… let me wallow, okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That small shred of honest emotion was enough to make Felix’s own repressed concern float to the surface. Releasing some of the anger-borne tension in his shoulders, Felix reached out with his free hand to pull up on the cloth covering Sylvain’s upper arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Get up and get yourself together. Wallowing does nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t-“ A drunken hand swatted at Felix’s own, uselessly and ineffectively. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do anything. Don’t… want to feel like this, anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Felix grabbed the flesh of his arm, pulled with unexpected force, and jerked Sylvain up to an unstable stand. Red hair that was once perfectly styled to look as if no care was put into its grooming now fell over Sylvain’s face in an unambiguous mess, covering his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything that you’re doing is just going to make it worse.” With Sylvain falling silent, Felix could start to feel the pain he danced around mentioning radiating off his friend, but the harshness of his words felt necessary to get through to him regardless. “Come on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though Sylvain felt limp in his grip, the other man did not budge in the slightest with a subsequent tug to his sleeve. He opened his mouth once, closed it, and then mumbled to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“…didn’t do much better when</span>
  <em>
    <span> your</span>
  </em>
  <span> brother died.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The anger that was fading as concern had moved to take its place, and pain that had long ago settled underneath the scar of an old emotional wound, suddenly flared up in Felix’s chest. Grip shifting from his arm to his collar, Felix yanked the drunkard within spitting distance of his own face. Rage colored his features, enough to cause what he could see of Sylvain’s bleary, drunken gaze to cower and fall to the ground again.</span>
</p>
<p><span>“I didn’t drink myself to half death and </span><em><span>screw half the girls in the damn</span></em> <em><span>town</span></em><span>!“ </span></p>
<p>
  <span>The disheveled state of the room and the fact that Sylvain had been drinking alone within it would later tell Felix that Sylvain had been spending his misery that night absent of any female company. In the moment, in his anger, he was more than willing to project that particularly common grievance back at him. Inches away from Sylvain’s nose and stinking breath, Felix hissed through his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p><span>“</span><em><span>What the hell is wrong with you.</span></em><span> “ He shook Sylvain by the collar, aggressively. “</span><em><span>Why-</span></em><span> the </span><em><span>hell-” </span></em><span>Two more rough shakes accompanied each spat word.</span> <span> “Would you say something like that. You don’t think-“ Another lifetime ago and Felix knew he would’ve been crying by this point. By now, it was second nature to channel the pain into gritted teeth and spat words. “You don’t think I don’t know how you feel?” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>With a shove to his chest, almost toppling his drunk friend to the floor, Felix clenched his newly freed hands at his side as if ready to physically fight a man who couldn’t even stand up properly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said it yourself. I lost my brother. I know how it feels afterward and how to </span>
  <em>
    <span>deal with it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cold silence that fell in the room only served to feed the fire of Felix’s anger. Sylvain had a far larger capacity to be cruel than many realized. When Sylvain wanted someone else to be hurt, he cut deep with his words and left them silently in the dust behind him, letting the pain settle and fester in their chest as he did with his own. This, he spitefully assumed, was the case now. Sylvain was intending the quiet to hurt him further. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took him by some surprise, then, that when Sylvain spoke, it wasn’t a quiet mumble that would leave the silence mostly undisturbed. Though his blurred eyes were gazing somewhere far beyond Felix, he spoke with sober clarity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“…Do you really, Felix.”     </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Felix put distance between their faces, confusion momentarily pushing aside his anger. “Are you so drunk that you’ve gone deaf? I</span>
  <em>
    <span> just</span>
  </em>
  <span> said I did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something so suddenly disconcerting about the way Sylvain’s head rolled from side to side as he spoke, his eyes holding steady regardless. “What I’m feeling… What you felt… Are not the same. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They </span>
  </em>
  <span>were not the same.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A weight on Felix’s shoulders appeared where there was none before, and the anger that had puffed up his form in defensiveness began to leak out with the sinking of his stomach. It was exactly the same feeling as realizing an enemy in front of him was not nearly as weak as he had thought when beginning his attack and was now lunging for his throat, claws bared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The same feeling as seeing a demonic monster sprout up from a defeated bandit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"…Did Glenn ever punch you in the stomach and make you vomit at a dinner party? Tell you to say it was the fish or he'd do worse when the party's over?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A lit candle glowed not 6 feet away and yet Sylvain's eyes had no light behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did Glenn ever wake you up by putting a knife to your throat and slice enough into it so you’d know what it was before you could see it?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain's expression was motionless, a tongueless mannequin speaking through magic. Dark, cold magic- his words had exactly the same effect as a lifetaking spell. They drained Felix's color. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did Glenn-" Something horribly </span>
  <em>
    <span>human </span>
  </em>
  <span>cracked through his wooden mask as a distinct wobble to his voice forced a pause. "Did he choke you out when he got drunk... and make you wear a scarf in summer so nobody would see the marks?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Young Sylvain, forcing a shiver throughout his body, complaining about an unusually cold verdant moon when Felix asked about it. He accepted that instantly. He thought Sylvain weak enough to where the explanation was acceptable.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adult Sylvain now, trying to restrain a shiver from wracking his entire body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"---Did he see the maids trying to fuck you and.. and.. beat the hell out of you for it later because you-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>stole </span>
  </em>
  <span>one of his women?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crack widened. It was enough to let through a choke that stole whatever next sentence was intended to shoot an arrow into Felix' gut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> have no—</span>
  <em>
    <span>idea</span>
  </em>
  <span>—how I </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>-“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Felix saw the rattling sob move a lump up and down Sylvain's throat with terrible clarity before it burst out. Teeth clenched, sharply exhaled breaths hissing through them, Sylvain's eyes narrowed so much that hot tears were enough to completely blur his vision. The one breath that did escape came out in a mangled, wept "fuck" before Sylvain slammed his forehead against his forearm on the wall, bracing himself as if he expected his knees to buckle. Most likely, they would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not once has Felix gotten drunk; he never had the particular desire to ever do so. But from what Sylvain described in the drunken rambles that Felix had actually bothered to listen to when he came home from a late night on the town, Felix is certain it must be something like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room was spinning behind them, Sylvain was out of focus, and Felix felt as if he was an arm's reach away from his body. When Sylvain jerked his head from his arm he stumbled backward in turn, barely avoiding a collusion with the opposite wall to the back of his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sheer fury that had burned through the entirety of him just seconds before sputtered out and died completely, leaving nothing but the sensation of a hollow, scorched pit in his gut.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sylvain--"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man didn’t give an answer, but he didn't give any hint of a movement that he was going to stop Felix from speaking either. His shoulders rose up and down rhythmically, silent were it not for staccatoed coughs and wheezes.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm-- " Felix already was terrible at knowing what to say when what he says is really going to matter. Now, even individual thoughts were hard to keep track of, much less full sentences. He forced what he could out with a sharp exhale- "Sorry." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He realized he hadn't blinked for minutes. He did, slowly, enough to where he was stung by the sight of Sylvain looking directly at him when he reopened his eyes. His friend, usually so easily comforting in his large presence and spirit, had the expression of a lost, desperate child. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm sorry, Felix. So sorry." He barely managed a strangled whisper. "Sorry--" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last apology, Felix realized, was for the sobs that finally spilled through the last emotional bricks holding up what was left of Sylvain's self-restraint. Guttural, choked tears and gasps erupted his entire body into a consistent tremble, forcing him to slam his fist back into the wall to prevent a collapse in earnest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>When was the last time I saw Sylvain cry? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Felix thought in sudden, horrible clarity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twelve to Sylvain's fourteen, maybe? Maybe Sylvain shed a few tears when that girl, the one he actually spoke of hoping his parents would arrange a marriage, ceased their courtship with a single paged letter and nothing else following. Or maybe his memory fails him, it was he who sent the letter to her, and those tears were what Felix's mind retroactively assumed should've been wept. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or earlier? Sylvain is nine and wailing over a scraped knee. So is Felix, six, in a feedback loop caused by Sylvain's crying. Perhaps that one stands out, even in this mental chaos, because Felix never remembered any other times Sylvain drew any kind of attention to a bruise or a cut. He said he was clumsy enough to be used to those, usually. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if he could remember a time when Sylvain had wept in front of him, it still wouldn't have prepared him for the sight of his closest friend gasping so hard that any further talking was impossible, or the pitiful, horribly </span>
  <em>
    <span>despairing</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound of those sobs.     </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When considering the past, not once in his entire life did Felix consider himself incompetent. He wasn't so arrogant as to disregard where his weaknesses lay, but never had he thought of himself as completely inadequate in any part of his life. Even when his father, drunk on sheer despair in the same way Sylvain was, told him that Glenn’s death on the battlefield was one to strive for, he did not feel inadequate as a human being. Strength and capability came through effort, practice and the will to have them. They were not bestowed onto you by another person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the very first time in his life Felix felt completely incapable. Unable to do anything except stand paralyzed in stunned silence, he had absolutely no idea what to say, or what could be said that would possibly be of any help whatsoever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Felix felt sincerely, hopelessly, utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>useless</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The feeling did not lessen with each passing horrible moment, nor even as Sylvain’s sobs quietened to where he could restrain them once more. The words to better the situation did not come to him. With no sudden enlightenment on how to fix this situation, Felix forced out the start of a sentence that he hoped would complete itself into something useful miraculously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“….Sylvain, I-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though Sylvain had finally turned away from the wall and his legs did not seem at risk of immediate collapse, not once during his abrupt, stumbling stride towards the door did he look Felix in the eye. It was only when the heavy sound of Sylvain slamming the door shut behind him clapped through the silence that Felix realized his stare and feet had been stuck as they were and he hadn’t even tried to look into his. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain did not return to his room that night- of that, Felix was certain, since he had stopped by it twice during a later sleepless night walk and in the early hours of the morning before heading to the training grounds. During the former, he made his impromptu route loop throughout the entire monastery in a vain effort to find any pieces of evidence that Sylvain had somehow left behind with his presence. Useless, since the man was aggravatingly tidy by nature, and he had exited the room with nothing on him but messed clothes and sickening drunkenness.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Felix searched for signs of the latter, albeit with far more reservation than other pieces of physical evidence, for as much as he was eager to find his friend he couldn’t muster the same drive to find his vomit.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What happened clearly had made him lastingly incompetent, since he had the stupidity to ask Ingrid whether Sylvain had chosen to stay in her room the previous night. That foolish mistake resulted in the second extremely unpleasant argument within a twenty-four-hour timespan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their morning lectures were short one student. No other members of his class took much notice, besides Dimtri giving a barely perceptible sigh of disappointment at the empty chair, and Ingrid pointing a stare towards Felix that was far more concerned than her usual facial expressions when it came to Sylvain’s truancy. In response to both, Felix kept his attention fixed on the lecture’s reading while absorbing absolutely none of the information written within it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the day’s end, Felix was ready to start raising actual voiced concern to Ingrid- </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>- before any reservations about making any kind of deal about this to uninvolved parties were abated when he caught sight of a messy mop of red hair coming up through the marketplace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sight gripped his throat, leaving him as silent as he was the last time he was staring at the back of Sylvain’s head. For a moment, Felix thought Sylvain would pass by the blacksmith without noticing his presence. Yet another foolish mistake. When Sylvain paced ever closer it became clear that the sudden deviation in his formerly straight path was to put as much space between the two of them as possible in the crowded street. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two briefly locked eyes as Sylvain and the stench of alcohol strode past the hot forges and irons. Without breaking pace or the silence between them, he continued forward and away from the lingering, almost pathetically desperate stare of his friend as if no one were there at all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Seteth."</span>
</p>
<p><span>The bishop wasn't exactly surprised to be addressed by name from Felix- notorious for using a derisive "you" in the place of it for others- after their recent discussions, but his sudden approach and abruptness was</span> <span>very unexpected. Even more so given their physical location- Felix wasn't one to visit the cathedral very often, much less his office on the second floor, nor during a time in which he should’ve been in a lecture and Seteth working on documentation without interruption. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>The boy was all thorns, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Were he not the one approaching, Seteth would have assumed that Felix most certainly did not want to speak to him. And despite calling for him, Felix looked presumptuously defensive to whatever response he expected out of the other man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Regardless, considering the tentatively positive effect his words had on Felix in their previous conversation, Seteth responded with as much evenness as possible. "What can I do for you, Felix?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You need to talk to Sylvain." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--Well, that was definitely an unexpected, and unnecessarily curt, response. Seteth's eyebrows raised, and he placed the quill within his fingers down on his desk. Clearly, Felix wasn't passing on a quick message that would end here. "And for what reason do you think I should do that?"  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Haven't you seen his behavior? He's cavorting with women across town- </span>
  <em>
    <span>all damn night</span>
  </em>
  <span>- and it's interfering with his training. He’s becoming a nuisance on the battlefield." Felix spat with a more uncharitable tone than one would expect while speaking of a friend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth, of course, was not ignorant of this. He had already warned Flayn to keep well away from him, lest the unfortunate rumors about his proclivities be even remotely accurate. However, the behavior was already well known among the staff, and given the influence of the Gautier house within the kingdom, any sort of significant punishment was more or less out of the question. Much to Seteth's displeasure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Has there been a specific recent incident that warrants my speaking to him?" At the very least, if nothing could be done about it with the usual response, this would inform his decision to keep his daughter far, far away from the philanderer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clearly, Felix entered the room with a very specific script in mind for this conversation, since the question immediately silenced him. An obvious mental scramble to find an exact reason to raise this complaint occurred behind Felix's widened eyes. Uncrossing his arms and clenching his fists slightly, his words came out with perhaps a touch more bite than the boy intended.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The fact that he's been doing this since he got here isn't enough? Isn't impropriety like that-" </span>
  <em>
    <span>Impropriety </span>
  </em>
  <span>more </span>
  <em>
    <span>sneered</span>
  </em>
  <span> than </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span>- " something you care about?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hardly specific, or recent. But it was then that Seteth saw something else in Felix's eyes, now that they were widened enough to show a touch more emotion than his usual undercurrent of cold aloofness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Worry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Worry that the older man would say no to his request, or worry about Sylvain himself, Seteth wasn't able to tell. But worry none the same and worry that could perhaps be soothed by an affirmation. Felix took Seteth's advice, so returning the favor seemed only just. No matter how displeasing the course of action necessary to return it seemed to Seteth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth interlaced his fingers on the wood of his desk. "Yes, it is one of my concerns to see that the students act within the teachings of the goddess and the church. And it is true that Sylvain has not been acting within those teachings, either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To say the very least.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, I will accept your request. I will make sure to speak with him about your concerns." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Felix's shoulders visibly relaxed when it was clear the conversation was over. He nodded and turned to leave with as much suddenness as his entrance but managed a quiet "Thanks" from over his shoulder before clicking the door shut. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>In short, the first discussion was not the success Seteth wished it to be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Expected</span>
  </em>
  <span>, absolutely not. But maybe some small part of him was naïve enough to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>hoped</span>
  </em>
  <span> it could have gone in any way well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was a mistake to send a messenger with summons to Seteth's office and no other context, because Sylvain strolled into the room with an aura of blanket defensiveness that only comes from not knowing what exactly you're going to be punished for. Not exactly a positive start to a productive conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The younger man stepped into the room with hands splayed and outstretched in front of him, as if he expected Seteth to leap over his desk and behead him with an axe before he could finish speaking. "If this is about Flayn, I swear I haven't stepped within 10 feet of her! Really! She told me-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth cut him off with a raised hand, a sigh, and closed eyes. He had to remind himself that his own reflexive defensiveness surrounding his daughter was not useful in this particular conversation. "I did not ask you to speak with me because of her. Please, shut the door."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain's arms lowered as confusion replaced his bewilderment. When Seteth didn't elaborate further and instead stared at him expectantly, he took the cue and turned to pull the door shut behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth waited until Sylvain had turned around completely and approached his desk before speaking again. Contrary to what he had advised Flayn, there was no point in having this conversation 10 feet apart. "Felix asked me to speak with you." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Visibly, Sylvain flinched. He paused for a second, presumably running through potential reasons that Felix of all people would ask Seteth of all people to speak with him, and when he came to a conclusion Seteth was mildly surprised to see a flash of fear run across his features. The younger man swallowed hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why? What did he say?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Given that Sylvain didn't immediately surrender a reason when he had walked into this room with an assumed one, and Felix's reluctance to give an exact answer to Seteth's own "why", the bishop concluded that there was indeed a specific incident that neither wanted to outright say. Therefore, more diplomacy than Seteth would usually allot Sylvain was required to understand what exactly was causing such uncharacteristic behavior between the two of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He told me that your behavior was something I needed to discuss with you. He said that it was interfering with your training and lecture attendance." That last point was an embellishment on his part, yes, but making the understood effects of his behavior as wide as possible seemed more conducive to change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Relief visibly coursed through Sylvain and his expression relaxed. Paradoxically, this aggravated Seteth- he clearly had been lectured enough on this topic to be relaxed about addressing it, which in turn meant that he hadn't taken very many of the lectures seriously. In an instant, that day became far less of a certain success. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"After speaking with her, the archbishop agreed that your actions since entering this academy are worthy of concern. I am also aware that others, including the professor, have spoken to you about this issue without seeing any kind of change in your behavior." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The professor?" Sylvain smiled without it reaching his eyes and had the audacity to </span>
  <em>
    <span>wink</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Seteth. "If one of you wanted to talk to me about women, then why not a beautiful woman like her? It might make me more motivated to change if I want to impress her, you know? " </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth closed his eyes in frustration and audibly sighed. This was going to be more difficult than he prepared for. "That is precisely why you are not speaking to the professor right now." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reopened his eyes to Sylvain, looking just as carelessly flippant and false as before the retort. "Because you have shown a persistent pattern of failing to take anyone's advice after individual reprimands, the archbishop and I have decided that I am to speak with you, once a week, to discuss your behavior and the steps you are taking to change it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain blinked. Seteth saw that he was beginning to think of an excuse of why he possibly couldn't commit to this and so promptly cut off any potential response. "I am certain you can spare a few hours from your weekly schedule. There are no lectures on this day and at this time and, while I do not attend them frequently, I know that the night taverns in town are not open yet either." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps Sylvain was preparing a joke about Seteth’s frequency of attendance- or lack thereof- but he kept silent with only slightly furrowed brows to indicate that he had any sort of resistance to this idea. Certainly, as well as unfortunately, Sylvain was at no risk of being expelled by the virtue of his family name alone. However, despite the flagrant trashing of his own reputation, Sylvain also knew that disobeying a relatively simple order from the archbishop like this with no real excuse was not a great precedent, especially considering his disobedience of refusing to hand over the recently retrieved lance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So instead of the expected joke, he raised his hands and made a mocking attempt at submission. "Alright, alright, I get that I'm a problem. Can't I just drop off a letter each week instead of going through with all of this? I'm not trying to offend you or anything, but I'm pretty sure we don't have a lot in common. I think we'll run out of things to talk about fairly quickly."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My personal interests are of no concern. I want to talk about you, Sylvain. Each week."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A jolt of frustration zapped through Sylvain's face. He was talented at suppressing those momentary negative emotions back behind a cold smile, it seemed. "Honestly, I don't think there's a lot about me you would be happy to hear about." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth wanted to emphasize that his own personal happiness had very little to do with why these conversations were going to happen, but realized reiterating this would get them nowhere. "Perhaps we could start with what you believe led Felix to raise concerns about your behavior to me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he could get nothing else out of Sylvain that day, then perhaps finding out exactly what happened between the two of them would help figure out how to breach the metaphorical wall that the boy was clearly erecting in front of him. Sylvain, however, was very keen on keeping it upright, as his entire body unsubtly stiffened and the integrity of his false smile faltered for a fleeting moment.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I mean, you know Felix, right? If you oversleep and miss the first 10 minutes of it, then you've ruined your training for that day in his eyes. I may have overslept one morning- and alright, it was because I had </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> lovely company the previous night- but Felix-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth raised a hand. He was hardly naive enough to not spot an obvious cover story being spun right in front of him. "Sylvain, I want to make something clear. I am going to consider progress being made only if you are truthful with me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thank the goddess, Sylvain finally lost that arrogant smile. "But I’m telling the truth, I swear." A lie and not a good one. “Isn’t admitting to what I’ve done wrong part of all of this?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if you are truly regretful and honest about what you have done wrong, neither of which I suspect is the case here.” A quick aversion of his gaze and twitch of his mouth indicated that Seteth was not making progress by hammering the point in here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was going to be the first of </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span> meetings, Seteth realized with a heavy sense of preemptive exasperation. The wall Sylvain had erected around himself was made of well-laid brick and Seteth was given naught but a spoon to break through it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand that this is not something you are looking forward to doing, and to be perfectly honest, I share that sentiment as well. However, it is agreed that a change in your behavior is necessary and I will not be satisfied with merely going through the motions of these meetings to appease the archbishop. I will end our discussion here. Hopefully, we can begin next week’s meeting on a more productive note when you have had time to consider what you are going to tell me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was more than a few moments of blank staring that Sylvain realized the meeting had been concluded. A second more and that sickeningly fake smile was plastered back across his face, accompanied by a particularly obnoxious wink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Seteth. See you next week. I’ll be sure to have something more interesting for you, don’t worry!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I kind of wish you kept the cuter traits you had as a kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Felix stopped mid-swing, furrowing his brows at his practice partner. To say that the air between them had been uncomfortable since that night and the following encounter- if it could be called that- in the marketplace was a vast understatement. A silent but significant wedge had been driven between them, to the point where the professor pairing the two of them for a simple sword practice session was physically the closest they’d been in over a week. Felix was just beginning to mentally accept that he missed his friend’s company and presence at meal times. He had never thought he’d miss the rambling, aggravating stories of what idiocy his friend had gotten up to the previous night, but somehow silence had become a worse dining companion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>These weren’t the first words said to him since the argument, but they were far more of a lead into a conversation than Sylvain asking for Felix to pass over a textbook during lectures. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stiffened, momentarily lowering his blade. “What are you talking about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain got the drop on him before he responded, just barely grazing Felix’s side with the wooden practice blade before it was reflexively deflected. Felix clicked his tongue, disappointed at himself that he’d let his guard down for such a flimsy reason. His shoulders tensed and he shifted his feet into a retaliatory stance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing that his partner was focused once more on the exercise, Sylvain’s movements became sloppy in an attempted distraction. The clacks of their swords hitting each other were more akin to a child’s game of patty-cake than any sort of proper duel. “Remember how you used to come crying to me when Dimitri wouldn’t play with you? Or how you’d make that face when you got served vegetables?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not wanting to be had for a second time, Felix remained silent for further explanation and focused on parrying his training partner’s sloppy and perfunctory advances. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clack, clack, clack.</span>
  </em>
  <span> For a moment it seemed as if Sylvain had let the topic drop and instead refocused on the exercise, as lazy as his movements were, until Felix turned on his heel and easily countered an advance before thrusting the tip of his sword directly in the center of the other man’s sternum. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain laughed, either at himself or at Felix’s sudden intensity towards a competition he couldn’t care less about, but the chuckle was equally wistful and bitter nonetheless. He stood still, sword “stabbed” into his chest, and looked directly at his partner for the first time. “Wish you still did things like that instead of still tattling on me, after all this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took the time for Felix to lower his blade and step back into a ready position to figure out what Sylvain was referring to with that restrained acidity. His face contorted in such a way that made Sylvain think suddenly that he was wrong about Felix being any different than his younger self. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tattling</span>
  </em>
  <span>-“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If there ever was a word that could be called immature, it was that one. Felix snorted and advanced forward straight into Sylvain’s parry. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>clacks</span>
  </em>
  <span> resumed with far more gusto than before, now that Felix had the drive of frustration to speak while trading blows without sacrificing focus.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re accusing </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> of being childish?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain, too, suddenly had more drive to put emphasis into his strikes. For the entirety of the conversation and the lesson before it, his friend’s face had been stuck in the same seemingly affable expression that Sylvain had made his default. A slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed his frustration, maybe disappointment, seeping through the cracks of his friendly mask.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I’m just saying. You don’t need to go complain to someone else when you’re upset with me. Ingrid’s already got that covered.” Though clearly intended to be a joke, or at least lighthearted, the last sentence came out with enough bitterness that it made Felix suddenly wrack his brain for the non-existent memory of telling Ingrid about all of this.  “I can take it from you, and I thought you were more than fine with giving that to me. At least, you used to be.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their shared blows stopped suddenly when Felix stepped back just as quickly. For the first time- perhaps since that night- Felix really </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked</span>
  </em>
  <span> at his friend with the expression of a child that had just been caught with his hand in the fruit basket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain was always so readable to Felix. Despite his own shortcomings when it came to parsing the emotions of others who hid them under a layer of falsehood or denial, he could always pick out what his friend was feeling behind his bravado of carelessness. It was a skill not innate to him that he had practiced, honed over years of hearing his care and friendship coated over in the language of someone who cared for nothing but women and causing trouble with them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look on Sylvain’s face- a thin smile below a pair of eyes that he could now see were sunken and bagged, a gaze from them that he could only think to call </span>
  <em>
    <span>hollow</span>
  </em>
  <span>- disturbed Felix with its complete unfamiliarity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Felix wasn’t going to just let what had transpired to fade away with time without addressing it-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wasn’t one to leave loose ends, especially in a rare prolonged moment of worry for the person on that other end.  But when he had recited the scene in his head, prepared exactly what he was going to say in response to what he thought to be certainly said by Sylvain, he hadn’t expected the conversation to be sprung upon him so suddenly, by a strange face with such empty eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tch. I--” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thought that anything I said would’ve just made things worse? Had-- have-- no idea what to even say to you?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He averted his eyes. Eye contact wasn’t usually difficult with Sylvain. Many usual things had become uncomfortably unusual lately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it wasn’t that night, where his thoughts were paralyzed by the overwhelming despair and anger of his best friend. He had the time to think, and think clearly, about exactly what to say. He took that moment during an uncharacteristic sheathing of his sword, a step back and yielding to his opponent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You… need help, Sylvain.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time during the entire tense exchange, Felix’s expression betrayed his honesty and the words he couldn’t bring himself to say so clearly in an open space. Sylvain needed help that Felix didn’t know how to give, or for what he could think of giving wouldn’t be of much actual help at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Following his shoulders, his chest tightened. It was hardly easy for Felix, admitting personal weakness- what could be called a failing, even. Throwing Sylvain that scrap of emotional truth across the invisible chasm between them left him feeling that nagging, despised sense of uselessness.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain softened. For all the ways Felix had changed since childhood, Sylvain had never lost the ability to see his friend’s honest emotions shining through the shell of cynical adulthood. Were it anyone else, even said with as much truthfulness, Sylvain would’ve brushed the declaration away with a smile, maybe a joke about his irreparably broken life and reputation. But because it was Felix, because Sylvain knew that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Felix</span>
  </em>
  <span> would not say something like that in the way he said it, he stayed quiet and visibly pensive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if realizing that was too soft for a semi-public setting where prying ears could make inferences about context, and also due to the useless feeling digging into his gut so uncomfortably, Felix bristled once more and put a definite scowl on his face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>needs to put your head straight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain snapped back to reality and their surroundings immediately. So too did his own personal brand of emotional masking, as a smile- far less detached this time- returned on his face to contrast Felix’s familiar scowl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really think</span>
  <em>
    <span> Seteth </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going to fix what you think’s got me so screwed up, though?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A spoon was being generous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth had naught but his fingers to try to tear down that brick wall and his knuckles were already bloodied by the fourth meeting. The second had been more or less identical to the first, and the third to the second, to the point that Seteth felt they were rehearsing the script of a stage play rather than engaging in what should’ve been a novel conversation each time. Sylvain admitted to more of the same philandering, danced around the same questions of why he chose to act on his proclivities in this way, never taking responsibility for the hearts he had broken. Three weeks of these meetings and Seteth had absolutely no progress to report to the archbishop- and if overheard courtyard gossip was to be believed, Sylvain’s behavior may have gotten worse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the very least, and what a small pittance it was, the toll of repeatedly coming at a crossroads of conversation was frustrating Sylvain as well, whose false smiles had become ever thinner with each meeting. Perhaps that could be counted as progress towards a change in behavior, at least. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By some small mercy of the goddess, however, Sylvain’s complicated maze of circumventing all Seteth’s suggested topics of productive discussion had circled around to a subject they could actually talk about without frustration from either party: literature. Namely, literature written by a fellow student. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bernadetta?” Seteth was audibly surprised after Sylvain mentioned reading her latest work- not just because he wouldn’t have expected a connection between the cowering girl and a man like Sylvain, but also because this was the first time Sylvain had introduced a conversation topic concerning a woman that wasn’t related to him engaging in immortality of some sort with her. “Ah, so you have read some of her stories?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain’s face brightened in a way that was completely unfamiliar to Seteth. “Yeah, she’s actually really talented! You wouldn’t expect it from a sheltered girl like her, but she draws on her life experience to create these incredible realistic narratives. The last story… man, it almost made me shed tears!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tempered his sudden burst of enthusiasm with a hand wave but clearly still held great excitement over the topic. “Alright, alright, maybe she didn’t draw on her own experience to write about two knights falling in love- kind of doubt she’s ever been a part of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>- but… she really has a way of making it feel like I was listening to two actual real people talking to each other. And that’s pretty- why are you staring at me like that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a few embarrassing moments to realize that Sylvain had in fact stopped speaking and that his mouth was in fact hanging open. Seteth closed it, but his eyes remained just as agape. “I am… surprised that you are so passionate about a woman’s work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The obnoxious wink that accompanied some flippant drivel about his exploits had gotten aggravating two weeks ago. “Hey, I appreciate ladies for everything that they do!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Audibly sighing was an obvious sign that Sylvain was getting under his skin, and therefore something Seteth needed to retain the higher ground that he had, but he simply could not help doing so in response to </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You say that, but given your behavior and the way you speak of these women, I have difficulty believing you actually appreciate them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What gives you that impression? Trust me, I have a lot of testimonials of satisfied-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cutting him off before he had the chance to transform his headache into a migraine, Seteth disallowed Sylvain’s gaze to avert by staring directly into his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, firstly, a man who appreciates women for </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything that they do</span>
  </em>
  <span> would not move from one to the next without much apparent thought. Nor would he refuse any responsibility towards the women he left behind.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second time Seteth cuts off a potential response Sylvain let some of his annoyance show. He wasn’t so annoyed by the accusation itself- old hat for him, having heard some variation of it from Ingrid, Felix, Dimitri, name anyone in his life and there’s a good chance they’d be on the list- so much as leaning in to the petty frustration of the conversation drifting back towards the aggravating. For a moment he was actually enjoying speaking with this guy and as he saw it, Seteth went ahead and ruined that. Again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Truthfully, I have less than no interest in hearing the ways you claim women to be satisfied with your behavior. Simply put, no matter what you say, I am not going to believe you. Your actions and words are so incongruent that the latter have been rendered meaningless by the former. And in all honesty, Sylvain, I believe many other people around you feel the same way as I do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain placed his hands behind his head and whistled. “Ouch. Harsh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But necessary for you to hear. I told you during our first meeting that I wanted only honesty out of you and I-</span>
  <em>
    <span> perhaps in vain</span>
  </em>
  <span>- still want that from you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So went any positivity lingering between them from the topic of Bernadetta’s stories. Sylvain’s hands dropped from his head to his lap, interlacing on his thighs. His expression became cold in the way that Seteth had come to recognize was unique to him- smiling wide, eyes fixed on his conversational partner,  but in such a detached way that his apathy showed through apparent friendliness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… what do you want to hear from me? Maybe you won’t believe me now, but I did really like her stories. I was honest about that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth paused. Specific wording became important, suddenly, since the wrong choice of words would absolutely send them into another maze loop of flippant denial, lies and false promises of change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you treat these women the way that you do? Before you try to make any more excuses, know that I will continue to ask this question until you answer it too with honesty.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain leaned back. Though they had discussed little of Sylvain’s habits when it came to training or battle, Seteth assumed the young man to be just as flippant about combat tactics as everything else in his life that he should have been taking seriously. The way that Sylvain looked him up and down, as if sizing up an opponent he was looking to defeat with relish, had him reconsider the assumption. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> want my honest answer, Seteth? Because I know you’re not going to like it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are few things that you have told me that I have enjoyed hearing. But if this is the true reason for your behavior, I want to know it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For someone who so carelessly  hid his true intentions behind a false face for the majority of his life, Sylvain was scrutinizing Seteth’s face for the slightest hint of dishonesty or apathy. Seeing nothing but the same stoic sternness that the man had shown him for weeks, he leaned over the desk in front of him. Placing his elbows onto the solid wood and crossing his hands over them, he stared up at Seteth with an expression unlike anything the man had seen before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“These girls see me as a studhorse.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Sylvain felt some kind of perverse glee at the flinch that the sudden crudeness sent through Seteth, now that he had finally found something that he could trip the other man with and step an inch more onto higher ground above him. Seteth thought this because he continued on without hesitation and with far more volume.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They want my cock,” He raised a hand and jutted out his thumb from a clenched fist. “And then a baby,” His index finger. “And then my family name,” His middle. “In that order and as fast as they can get them. I used to think they were going for the name first, but i</span>
  <em>
    <span>t turns out</span>
  </em>
  <span> if you’ve got a baby with a crest, it’s a</span>
  <em>
    <span> lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>easier to get the name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers curled into a fist again, which rejoined the other underneath his elbow on the desk. He bored holes in the back of the older man’s skull with his stare, finally colored with the anger and spite that had been held back from the apparent persona Seteth had thought he had seen entirely through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They don’t care about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They never have, and I’m pretty sure they never will. Even whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>lucky</span>
  </em>
  <span> woman my parents pick to be my wife, who’ll get all of those without having to worry about not getting to step two.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t bother to wait for a response. Leaning back off the desk and back into his chair, he assumed a posture that anyone else would see as casual-  relaxed even. Seteth saw only the hostility in it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So why should I pretend like they want anything but that? If they’re going to use me, why not just use them? At least I can have some fun and make them happy with the first thing for a little while.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Opening his mouth, then closing it immediately, Seteth let silence fall between them. Sylvain’s expression was impenetrable- hostile, resigned, perhaps preemptively judgmental of whatever response Seteth was expected to give. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Truthfully, the combined bluntness and spite in Sylvain’s voice had stolen Seteth’s words. Of course he was not ignorant to the realities bestowed upon humans born with crests. The system the archbishop had established in the face of their people’s ruination had kept some manner of peace, and whilte Seteth found it far better than the alternative, it had unkind hands in most aspects of the lives of the nobility’s children.  He was aware of many students struggling with arranged marriages or facing the inevitable reality of one waiting for them as soon as they left the academy. Maybe it was a failing of his to not truly consider the terrible conflict beneath what seemed to be resolved acceptance in most of them, but never had he seen a trace of this pure anger within them for any part of their situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite knowing there must be some righteous frustration for simple luck deciding the course of a noble child’s life and marriage, this fury and its conclusion felt incongruent. Sylvain was many things, but Seteth never thought him to be so irrational, delusional even,  as to create a worldview like this out of nothing. A quiet dread for the answer settled in his chest before he spoke, evenly, once more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What made you believe that women only approach you for… these things?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Many, many times during these hours spent together, Sylvain’s ever present and ever false smile had faltered, fallen and disappeared off of his face. When anger had shown itself, as it had minutes before, it was quickly squashed with that same fake joviality, or at least another kind of emotion that worked to deflect. But not once had the light completely drained from his eyes like this. Never had Seteth seen Sylvain look so vacant--  so </span>
  <em>
    <span>empty</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know because they’ve wanted those three things from me for my entire life. For as long as I can remember they’ve been crawling all over me like damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>ants.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth thought he saw Sylvain shiver, as if he could feel thousands of tiny legs crawling up his back and arms. It had to be a mistake. The boy was far too still. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Every noblewoman who’s ever come to our home comes smiling and asking for me with all the words of love she can give and leaves as soon as she realizes I’m not going to sire her crest babies. My father gets sent enough marriage proposals every month to fill a horse trough. Most of them just call me </span>
  <em>
    <span>your son</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of my name.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His stare remaining drained of emotion, it unfocused from Seteth’s face to the wall behind him. As soon as he spoke, Seteth realized that Sylvain wasn’t actually speaking to him anymore.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even some of the maids thought they could’ve pinned me down.” He laughed in such a humorless way that it could better be called a scoff. “I mean, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> tried. One thought she could make me love her early enough so it’d be way easier to get me and my crest when I was older.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bitter memory had taken hold of him and had erased Seteth’s presence from his proximity entirely. He continued, in the grumble one would use to narrate a particularly boring chore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...She was wrong. She wasn’t even the only woman I was with back then, you know? And even if I could've knocked her up, my father would’ve thrown her out the servant’s back door before she popped out the damn kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or-” He blurted, cutting the detached bitterness as his mumble turned into tight words. Attempted flippancy, most likely to convince himself, since he still spoke as if Seteth were not there. “...My brother would’ve finally killed me for it. I mean, he beat the shit out of me enough because of it, so-- yeah, that would've been the last straw. She was one of his favorites.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A truly disgusting feeling dug clawed into the base of Seteth’s stomach, increasing its gnarled grip with every word that Sylvain spoke. It was a nameless disgust at first, not directed at Sylvain himself, but instead felt reflexively before the summation of his words set in. It took Seteth some tensely quiet seconds to repeat the sentences in his head, to parse them at a clearer pace, before he could understand just why the full picture his words painted was so nauseating to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Truthfully, Seteth did not want to press him for more. The idea of hearing details about the incident- or, more horribly, what were clearly multiple incidents-  only served to sicken him further. Maybe Sylvain somehow saw that nausea and thought it to be directed towards him rather than the trauma itself, or maybe it was the sudden shift in Seteth’s expression from his usual bordering-on-punitive stoicism to something closer to horrified, but the younger man was alerted to his presence once more and confusion colored his features. Seteth cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and forced his unease down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sylvain. I am truly sorry that you were-- violated in such a way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Confusion gave way to bewilderment in Sylvain’s eyes. Seteth was almost thankful for it, now that Sylvain actually looked somewhat</span>
  <em>
    <span> present</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Huh? Violated? What are you talking about?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In turn, it was baffling to Seteth that Sylvain had to clearly repeat in his mind what he had just said to find what was being called a violation. Baffling, and deeply tragic in short retrospect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, what… Miklan did hurt like hell, but I wouldn’t call it that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There, his brother’s name said with a noticeable touch of reluctance, was where the most obvious pain shone through. Every single aspect of what Sylvain had just said was illuminating but amidst the rest of it coming out in a detached, only vaguely bitter mutter, his hesitation said more about what actually still caused him pain to remember. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But all of those memories, so absently said as they were, had to be painful. Sylvain had shown him deeply buried pain that Seteth hadn’t realized existed until the boy threw it down across the desk between them as one does a deck of cards they care little about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth had expected, on some level even hoped for, these conversations to induce emotional distress in Sylvain. Distress, guilt, realization of the hurt you have and can cause, is what prompts the motivation to change. This, he had come to realize, was a different sort of pain, one so familiar and old that recalling it would not prompt the motivating stress behind change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charging ahead without taking time to think of a plan of attack for the logical breakdowns it had caused was akin to stabbing an open wound with a needle and no thread to stitch it closed. Seteth exhaled the last of his unease, closing his eyes briefly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I think we should stop here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Oh, have I finally put off your delicate sensibilities?” Seteth still couldn’t say for certain if any look of regret coming from Sylvain could ever possibly be honest, but the expression that briefly appeared across his face did not seem facetious.  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you, really.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Truthfully, Sylvain, your experience is unfamiliar to me and I do not know what to say to you right now that could be constructive. I need time to think about how to respond to this correctly.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“....Never thought I’d hear you say you were the wrong one.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Reconsidering your opinion and course of action when new information is available isn’t being wrong. I hope you can come to understand that eventually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain took the familiar admonishment as his cue. He gave no response as he stood up from his chair, the legs squeaking against the cold stone of the floor beneath them. Any energy for a flippant dismissal of Seteth’s advice had been drained from him. That alone told the man that for as cool Sylvain seemed to be, the continuously lasting embers of that pain had been lit long enough to burn away his ability to mask it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sylvain, before you leave-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seteth’s sudden interjection came just before Sylvain’s hand reached the door. From the chair to there, he hadn’t looked at him once. The stiffening of his body told that he expected another lecture before his escape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The purpose of these conversations are for you to understand the consequences of your </span>
  <em>
    <span>current</span>
  </em>
  <span> behavior and to change it. But I want to make it clear that you were not at fault for what happened to you as a child.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The denials that had been so carelessly tossed back at Seteth as parries to every single constructive suggestion the man gave had become very- but in a way familiarly- frustrating. The silent rebuttal in the sinking of Sylvain’s shoulders to what Seteth had hoped was an inarguable fact was the first that actually hurt to see. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If he was asked by Felix, Ingrid,  the goddess herself, or anyone who gave a half damn about his emotional state (</span>
  <em>
    <span>of all things)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if the conversations with Seteth were doing anything to help him in the way he apparently needed so badly, he would’ve laughed it off with a no. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would have been truthful. Hours after the first meeting with Seteth and his first half-pledge to improve his behavior, he fucked a girl with a ring barely on her finger behind one of the very taverns his then-new </span>
  <em>
    <span>spiritual advisor</span>
  </em>
  <span> used as a reason he would try to bail on the meetings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Really, the circular, aggravating conversations he had with Seteth directly contributed to a worsening of his behavior. He made it a point to find a girl and bed her within hours after leaving his office, as if doing so was going to wordlessly prove the pointlessness of it all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is what I am now and there’s no changing that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’d think with spiteful carelessness while face-first between her legs, and then again with resignation and a hollow chest as he redressed to leave her in bed. Ignoring the whines and pleas to come back, he’d laugh, or try to, to himself, at Seteth, at the very concept of him changing, at the idea that he could ever be more than this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>True guilt was a feeling for people who still had faith in their own goodness, or at least their potential to be better. The closest thing Sylvain felt to regret whenever he left behind another lover was the come down from the rush of getting into bed with them, sex, coming, and then letting the reality of the pointlessness of it all settle in. Sylvain had lived his life, for as long as he could remember, as a series of these highs and lows. Each pointless epiphany was quickly forgotten when the itch to feel that high again came, when the anticipation of the rush told him that maybe the fall wouldn’t be so draining this time. A sense of numbness when it inevitably did was not the same thing as regret, even when both had similar sensations of clawing behind the bones of his ribcage.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe at one point in his life, when he was young and naive and </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he believed he could love these girls. Maybe he used to seek out their warmth beside him in bed to feel warm, something close to love, rather than to chase a simple physical and thought consuming rush of pleasure.  Enough iterations of the cycle had made him forget and believe that it was, and had always been, a perpetually meaningless one. The inevitable perpetuity meant it wasn’t worth examining why the itch came when he was alone with his hollowness, even when he knew scratching it once more would only increase its depth after all was said and done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first time Sylvain had felt real guilt in accessible memory- the soul-consuming sort of guilt, that made him question whether or not he was truly irredeemable now, the kind that he assumed the faithful felt when committing a grave sin against the goddess-  was when it flowed out from him with the blood dripping from his fingertips as he stood over the corpse of his slaughtered brother. Any chance at a redemption, a chance at fixing what had been so horribly wrong between them, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to drive his own </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be this way, splattered and soaked into the dirt below along with the droplets. It had paralyzed him in a way that no woman, broken relationship or come down had ever done before, and left him to stare at Miklan’s body with simultaneously a frozen and racing mind until Ingrid physically pulled him away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The same, familiar numbness settling in with the alcohol he poured down his throat hours after leaving the corpse and the last of his soul’s potential goodness to rot was the ultimate tell, then. True guilt was only for the people that had potential to change anything, after all. Maybe simply accepting the blame, as he always had when it came to his brother and his own failings in love, was close enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> accepted that, until Felix had dragged up enough guilty pain that he was trying to finally kill to land him in the office of the archbishop’s assistant, armed with a shovel to dig up more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had held Seteth off for long enough to believe that he could maintain the integrity of his emotional burial mound, at first. It wasn’t until he had left their fourth meeting with an assurance that shouldering blame wasn’t a burden he had to bear that Sylvain felt actually</span>
  <em>
    <span> angry </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the man rather than mildly frustrated, bored, or smugly satisfied in his emotional deflections. What had been an attempt at relieving whatever pain Seteth thought he understood instead chipped at an acceptance that had smothered it. How dare he thoughtlessly question the peace Sylvain had made- </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had made-  with the burdens left by the lifelong hate of a dead brother and every woman who pretended to love him when nothing else lightened their weight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You were not at fault</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Horseshit, complete horseshit. Seteth admitted to knowing not a damn thing about what to say. He had no idea what he was talking about. His words, as they had in every other meeting, meant nothing. There was no reason to give them any heed. Sylvain tried to angrily reassure himself of that, repeatedly, in the hours between leaving his office and sunset.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anger could only sustain itself for so long before repetition did nothing to make the reassurances believable. Through those cracks that Seteth's endlessly repeated words had forced open in his mind sept thoughts that his numbness had been so good at shutting away, feelings that felt hot enough to burn it away completely if they weren’t resealed again. For as cold as ultimately and eternally feeling nothing was, the old heat of pain not answered for before its burial was worse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to reseal it that night with the same girl he had fucked the week previous in his fourth pointless fit of rebelliousness. When he lay on top of her, breathless in the post-orgasm haze, and felt not familiar hollowness but a flash of stomach-wrenching,</span>
  <em>
    <span> hot</span>
  </em>
  <span> pain threatening to make him vomit, the sudden realization that a long accepted cycle had begun to break was the same sort of consuming as the sight of his brother’s mangled corpse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t spend long enough in the infirmary after rolling off of her to hear any whining pleas to come back. His hands and limbs remained entirely numb when he stumbled into his room, barely half dressed and only realizing how rapidly he was breathing when the door shut behind him and silence occupied the rest of the small space. Getting back to his dormitory had been done without thinking or remembered effort, but the steps between the door and his bed were suddenly as impossible to take as if his legs were broken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain swayed, slid to the floor, and held his pounding head in his hands. His eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. If he looked up again, he would certainly see Miklan’s dead, bloodied body- or his brother reanimated, standing over him, screaming out the chaotically disjointed words and accusations racing through his mind and preventing Sylvain from ever walking out from the door behind him again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, Seteth hadn’t been of any </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him. Four meetings to supposedly save his soul and there was nothing further from him than peace of mind, comfort, a change. But perhaps the man had finally broken </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>about Sylvain to where he desperately wished for help that could pull him out of that room and his own thoughts. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this got so long on the gdoc that it needed two chapters and one entirely devoted to establishing that this is Not Fine, whoops. </p>
<p>next time on...this: sylvain tries to untangle the ouroboros of miklan's abuse and his fucked views on women! seteth realizes he needs a jackhammer for this emotional wall! felix reenters the scene! it does get better!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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